A/N: Please forgive the rushed and often nonsensical state of this 'story'. It was written at the last minute. Takes place during the very beginning of season two.
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A headache persisted as though a possessing spirit in the hollow of her skull. It was an accompaniment to her Tuesday, an unnecessary instrument, that she discovered no amount of rest or medicine could disengage. Its roots delved deep.
Having just awoke, she lifted his thick bedsheets from her body, almost overtly warm and soft in her strangely sensitive state. Already dressed, she left the bed and put on an oversized sweater.
Gold could be heard passing over the floorboards of another area in the house. Even before she could hear his steps, she could sense him.
The setting sun was shining through the windows in the kitchen, lighting Belle's hair amber-brown as ember sparks as she entered.
The side door was open - an evening habit of his - and a mild autumn wind entered the room. She could hear the same wind blow through the trees with the sound of waves, vast areas envisioned without human life. It the same as held her under its spell, that lush and weighted song. It intoxicated her, and she was not the same after hearing it.
Then he turned. His eyes darted over her, unused to seeing her slight frame filter through the corridors of his home. The once ghost of his heart. Through the glass she saw a glimpse of his mind, his emotions. A sudden flicker of sadness, a ray of blinding light reflected from a mirror that was soon vanished. He smiled.
She couldn't think of what to say, so she walked to where he tried to hide in plain sight. She could always see him. She brushed her hand over his, holding his thin fingers between her own and bringing them to her lips. She met his eyes, warm and questioning, and softly kissed his knuckles. What resided within his mind was unknown. It was a mystery she often preferred unsolved.
Belle's own thoughts were woven in another female's likeness. She borrowed the inanimate woman's strength for it was her own when given life.
Belle left him with promise of more, no need of words. She advanced, her steps light, until she came to stand in the frame of the open door with her back to him. Come to me her stance whispered.
She could hear him moving, even if it was only in his mind. Before her, through the door, were other sounds; the rustle of dry and fallen leaves as they were blown in the wind, the speech of strangers, windchimes. The sweater over her dress wasn't warm enough, and inside her head the phantom remained. "How long was I asleep?"
"Not too long." His voice was close. He was close. "A few hours. Are you feeling better?"
She turned around. The colors of his garden vivid and surrounding her. "Somewhat."
"I was hoping it'd be gone."
"I don't think that's going to happen." A hand went to her forehead. "Something just made me get up."
"Well, I'm glad sleep finally decided to release you even if discomfort will not. I missed you." He took her in his arms and her breath caught. Something in her, beneath her ribs, burned bright red. Her lungs. From them warm spices seemed to fill her throat, risen from fire. The embers her hair. Touch was something she would have to get used to with time. It was overwhelming and addictive. It went to her head. A hypnotism much like sleep, the submersion of her body. The warmth and closeness of him felt dreamlike. To be held was to simultaneously know the cause and ease of fear. She constantly wanted to succumb to its call. He was aware of this, often feeling his own version of the same.
They shared a bed for this reason.
She needed to feel his presence through the night, his warmth and his dreams which bled over to her. To look over and see him asleep, still lost and wandering someplace else. To be with him as he opened his eyes and noticed her again, still new. A simple word from him and she wanted to cry because it seemed so unreal. As though the life she was experiencing was not her own. Always hyper-aware of the holes through which she saw the world, the dome, her eyes, someone else's eyes, were perched in. Was this her life or was she still locked away in the dark dreaming? Was this insight from her own soul trapped inside another body? Her steps made on pins, stilts, not connected to the area through which she was forced to focus. She was often awkward with her movement, trying to tame that questioning voice.
She still wasn't ready to be intimate with him, not with everything the way it was. He didn't complain. He never pushed or pressured. Her wavering thoughts and dreams did enough of that, but she couldn't step into that realm. Not yet.
He shifted his weight, moving so that they touched one another through thin fabrics and skin. His fingers passed through her hair and she knew by the way his fingers brushed against her skin; slow, longing. She knew.
"Do you want to step outside? The cool air might help your head." His voice was heavy, clung to by thought.
"I guess." Her lips were against his shirt, and begrudgingly she parted from him. She was for a moment made cold by a rush of the wind.
As she looked up, looked to stubble on his chin, the curve of his nose, his mouth, his teeth, he dove to press his lips to her forehead. His kiss deepened, and his hands flew upward to cup her face. She felt as though she were unraveling, all of her falling inwards, spools of iridescence sent to the sky, threads of saffron, fibres of yarn. Oh how she loved him. How she wished she could simply fall apart, open as a flower blossoms or as an orange is peeled, so that such light could emerge to flood him. She was swimming in it already.
"I'll be right back," he whispered as she rose above the tides only to fall. If her hands by sight could relay her words they in their crossing would have asked him to stay. She did not want him to hear or see her terrible neediness.
Gold exited the room and returned with a woven throw. He wrapped it around her, linked his arm in hers and led her outside. The sky was beautiful. The house was beautiful, the fence and the plants and flowers, Gold at her side, all beautiful. Along the house he'd lit their scant lanterns. A table held a single red candle. On the wind she could detect its scent of fire, heated wax.
Belle walked beside him to chairs he'd placed outside while she slept. The sun had set and sent in its wake waves of blue, all other colors having faded. It was ever glowing, backlit. The stars were beginning to come out and shone as spheres in the twilight.
She leaned back in her chair. Closing her eyes, the world was to her even wider than in reality. It escaped her, ran into her. Belle breathed in, her lungs were now cool. Her heart slow, mind slow. She faded away in half-sleep.
Gold took one of her hands in his, unknowingly bringing her back.
"May I?" He held his hands out toward her. "No magic, I swear."
She opened her eyes. Everything was a different color as though run through a filter. The world around her seemed to sail on the sky. Nothing was stable. She'd kept sight from her mind for too long.
His hands were close to her face and he gestured, thinking she might understand. She let her eyes reply yes even if she wasn't certain.
Slow invisible circles he drew, massaging her temples, the points of pressure, a chart of stars. He mouthed words that were along the lines of prayer.
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